


Powerful (Why I got you on my mind?)

by AireHaleinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Derek has panic attacks, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Human!Derek, Like there's a lot of angst if you notice, M/M, Minor Lydia Martin/Jordan Parrish, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, PTSD light effects, Panic Attacks, Post Nogitsune effects, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles and Malia are just friends, Stiles is full of rage, season 4, stiles and lydia are bff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AireHaleinski/pseuds/AireHaleinski
Summary: The nightmare of the Nogitsune seems over for Stiles Stilinski and the pack, but peace is far from being a part of Beacon Hills’ life: Derek Hale, in fact, is about to experience the heartbreaking loss of his powers, that leaves him hopeless and sure of a tragic and upcoming death.Can the growing bond between two broken souls, fight forces otherwise invincible?Season 4 canon compliant





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Powerful (Why I Got You On my Mind)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5645260) by [AireHaleinski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AireHaleinski/pseuds/AireHaleinski). 



> Hey everyone! This is my new fanfiction, that is basically a rewrite of season 4.   
> You all know that s4 was a “sterekless mess”, so I tried to fix it a bit, mostly Stiles and Derek’s storylines.   
> There’s just a little mention of the “deadpool” drama and none of the Benefactor.   
> The episodes of season 4 that you’ll find are 4x02, 4x03, 4x06, 4x08, 4x12, and a different version of 5x01 and 5x20 (because I wrote the story before season 5b if I remember correctly)  
> This fic is unbeta’d so every mistake is mine (English is not my first language).  
> Everything is tagged, if you guys think I missed something, tell me please.   
> About the relationships, Stalia is just friendship (3x20 happened but they remained friends) Stydia is just friendship (and Stiles is over her, the bs of “ sophomore year / junior year” doesn’t exist here) and there’s some Bro!Draeden too (what should have been, imho).   
> Lydia and Malia are starting to get along, like it was at the beginning of s4 (sorry Malydia fans, but I tried to stick to the canon, while making it a set up for sterek) .   
> I hope you like it anyway =) Stay tuuuuuned my friends =)

4x02 

It’s almost one o’clock at night, when the mysterious darkness typical of this time, and a Jeep called “Roscoe” are taking over the road.

Stiles Stilinski, with his hands holding tight on the steering wheel, bites his lip with concern; his head is storming with pessimistic thoughts about the resistance of his car, but without a proper reason. His wonderful “smurfy” – coloured machine, in fact, still manages to work smoothly, even if she’s basically thirty years old, that’s quite a lot for a simple car. 

The road is empty - thank goodness - which means no psychotic Berserkers that try to follow them or worse, maybe surprise them at the front door of the Stilinski’s, where the supernatural and way too many troubles coming with it, often shows up without an invitation.

Lydia Martin stares firmly at him from the passenger seat, tapping her fingers on the omnipresent baseball bat. Although Stiles is well aware that the object isn’t a convincing substitute for fangs and claws, the boy continues to carry it around anyway.

“Well Stiles, it’s one o'clock. It's too late to drive me and Malia back home. This calls for a plan b, that I, for your own good, already have. You know what is it?” she snaps next to him, and Stiles rolls his eyes as he snorts, annoyed by yet another question.

What happened, back in third grade, that let him to have a giant crush on her, big enough to last until sophomore year in high school?   
Was he drunk or on drugs? Was he on an overdose of Skittles and M&m’s?   
He still can’t find a good explanation.

“What would you want me to do, huh?” he snarls at the girl with strawberry blonde hair, who hasn’t stayed silent for even a minute since they got in the car, coming back from the school where they fought Kate’s Berserkers, and then discovered that Peter Hale is a multimillionaire. 

“Well, just take us all to your house! It's safer there, we’re together, and we can watch each other's backs! Imagine that a Berserker can emerge from the toilet, while I sleep alone in my room, for example. With only my untrained scream, I can’t do that much to fight it...”

“Yeah, because I surely have more chances to confront it, right? Do I need to remind you that, unlike you guys, I’m only h-human?” Stiles replies, finally checking the road with a little more concentration, but with clear hesitancy in his voice. 

From the back seat, Malia Tate notices the awkward change of mood at the word “human”, and she casts a worried look at her friend, ready to comfort him if he needs it. The Nogitsune drama is still fresh and painful in the whole pack’s mind, and she can imagine why it is so difficult for Stiles to pronounce that specific word. 

The whole pack is so relieved that he is still human, after all. 

“Don’t tell me you think I’d let you take advantage of my claws, Lydia, just because you want protection…” Malia growls aggressively in Lydia’s direction, who turns around with a startled face, feeling somehow under attack.

“Well, sweetheart, I don’t see the problem. You’re the one with the strength here!”

“I do, but I'm not your pet! I won’t put out my claws or be a freaking bait for another attack! I’m not some kind of guard dog!” Malia literally barks and Lydia's eyes get wider. 

“Obviously you’re not a guard dog, but I remind you that you owe me a lot of favors, like all the lies I tell my mom when you spend all those days scratching the floor of my grandmother's house, because of your inability to control yourself during the full moon!”

“ENOUGH!” Stiles shouts, suddenly turning the radio on and letting a typically 20s melody, but reinterpreted in a modern key, to diffuse in the car, so that the tone of the discussion can dwindle. 

“All right, you guys will sleep in my room, as long as tomorrow you both slip away to avoid my dad’s possible wrath. I’m not in the mood to explain that my room hasn’t suddenly turned into a weird harem.”

“Don’t you have armchairs? I can sleep there, I’m not that picky when there’s an emergency - What's a harem? - ”, the two girls ask in unison, and Stiles shakes his head.  
Having silent passengers is a basic rule for him, with which it seems Lydia and Malia aren’t that familiar.

Someone rather used to dead silence in the Jeep is actually Derek, who generally remains almost mute, the few times he finds himself in the Jeep for a mission or something else. The same Derek who – from the quick news Scott sent to Stiles – came back to his natural appearance of an adult grumpy cat, after Kate turned him into a decidedly unbearable teenager, more over at her mercy.

Honestly, after Allison’s shocking death and his own horrible possession, Stiles tried in every way, with the help of both a few psychologists and Melissa Mc Call, to grow apart from those negative thoughts towards the fate of his friends, that kept popping up into his brain.   
They were the main responsible for the increase of his constant anxiety, he knew that, but his chronic concern for the others was still flowing through his veins by now, impossible to stop on command.

Actually, the one for Derek was the most pressing anxiety.   
Stiles really wanted to avoid him another psychological abuse from Kate. Wasn’t it enough for her to seduce him, and then to set his whole house and family on fire? She also had to kidnap him and bring him back to when he was a teenager, just because she wanted a damn amulet?   
What a nonsense. 

Derek Hale, a.k.a. the one who always gets in the way of these tragic situations, who has been through so much, and despite everything, he’s still able to stand up and fight bravely for himself and his friends, and Stiles really admires him for that. 

“Here we are! Are you going to unlock the car and let us off, or should we break through the glass?” Lydia asks, awakening him from his reverie with a snap of her fingers, pointing at Stiles’ house.

“Break through the glass? Count me in!” Malia nods while tensing her hand into a fist, but Stiles unlocks the doors quickly, managing to prevent a disaster.  
“Wait a minute. Stiles, if I remember correctly, you don’t have chairs in the room! We all have to sleep together in your bed” Lydia notes, with high disappointment. 

“Is there enough space for the three of us? I have no desire to stay crouched to any of you, or worse, spoon” Malia vents, but the volume of the girls’ voices begins to slowly quiet down in Stiles’ head, until he doesn’t even hear them. 

The boy enters into the house, up the stairs two at a time, almost forgetting that Lydia and Malia are behind him, with a single action in his mind, like he’s hypnotized or something.   
It’s like his brain is full of a series of figurative bulbs, symbolizing the constant concern for his friends, and breaking news: Derek’s one is always turned on. 

Actually Stiles, after the travel in Mexico, is seriously terrified for Derek’s life, knowing that the guy finds himself in the middle of a trouble with a blink of an eye, and to those who ask him - Scott and Kira specifically – why he is so scared, he replies: “He spent two full days looking for me when I strolled through the city placing bombs everywhere. And the least I can do is to reciprocate the concern”. 

Lydia always snaps back with “Chris Argent looked for you too”, but even Malia, who is a newbie of the pack, realizes that Stiles cared very little about Argents’ consideration.

Stiles enters the room in a hurry, looking into his drawers for that picture that shows Derek - the one he took during that summer spent to find Erica and Boyd, a few months before - and pins it on his “blackboard of mystery”, tied to a red thread, that is left dangling.

Okay, Derek is officially one of Beacon’s unsolved mysteries, even if it’s connected to virtually nothing, except Kate. And Stiles refuses to have anything of that woman in his room.

Lydia and Malia walk in - both out of breath, because they have to run to keep up with Stiles - and they notice the photo in an instant.   
Malia barely opens her mouth, but Lydia interrupts her right away. “It isn’t worth, Malia. Don’t ask. Let's pretend this is one of his detective’s paranoia, otherwise we will break our head, wanting to jump into conclusions ...”  
She drags Malia with her, heading to the bathroom for a quick refresh, before going to sleep. The sound of their steps vanishes immediately. 

With just half of his pajamas on, Stiles is too busy to contemplate Kate’s moves or the reasons behind Derek’s change, so much that he stumbles over his shoes.   
Oh, welcome ADHD and ‘brain that works too fast, that sometimes he thinks he should call himself Sherlock Stilinski’. 

“Concentration Stilinski! You’re yet more worthless if you stop using your only available weapon” he mutters, sighing and getting into bed with the adrenaline still circulating in his body, that makes him fidget into the sheets.  
The two girls come back when Stiles is already lying in bed, a bit surprised by having them next to him, given that for a moment he has even forgotten their presence.

“Stay away from me, please” he orders, turning to the bedside table and staring at the phone without even notice how Malia, despite her complaints, involves Lydia in a real spoon embrace.   
Derek never answers his phone, now that Stiles thinks about it, so sending him a message can easily classify in the “pole position” on “the list of the most idiotic ideas of the year”.   
Instead of talking with him on the phone, maybe it would be better to visit him directly at the loft.   
Stiles sighs deeply, ignoring Malia’s snoring – is she already asleep? - beside him and closes his eyes.   
Helping Derek Hale became his favorite sport, and he couldn’t help it.

The headache caused by a daily double dose of Adderall started when Scott was bitten, and Derek just happened to be the only werewolf they knew, so it was impossible not to involve him - and get involved - in trouble that lycanthropy and Derek himself brought.  
And now the tables have turned, and the search for Scott’s cure became a pursuit of happiness for Derek.  
Stiles wants to contact him so badly and so much, that his stomach starts to have cramps, but he knows that Derek would never reply.

Stiles closes his eyes again, trying to force his subconscious to take over, praying not to dream about that guy whose condition is the first of his thoughts.  
He spends half an hour rolling in the sheets before the dream phase finally takes control of his mind, in the form of endless journeys with his Jeep, and a pair of yellowish eyes.  
-

In a hypothetical upside down world, Stiles is a girl, indifferent to Derek Hale’s situation and his awakening this morning would be categorized as "wonderful."

Stiles’ sarcasm would call it also beautiful, crystal clear, like the irises of his father placed a few centimeters from his face, and especially impressive, like the red-faced man who looks like a red light.

“Listen, Stiles, I made pancakes, believing that I would have surprised you pleasantly, and you played me a dirty trick instead, bringing not only one, but two girls in your bed? What is wrong with you, can you please explain?”

Malia turns around savagely at that very minute - saving Stiles from an awkward moment and a response that doesn’t want to come out of his mouth - knocking Lydia to the ground, while she gets out of bed as if nothing happened.

“Well Sheriff, I assure you this is not a Harem, even if I don’t know what that means. Stiles told us to tell you this, so…” Malia’s smile is full of pride, because she remembers perfectly his friend’s warning.

Or at least she thinks. 

"You’re usually insane Stiles, but this is the highest peak of nonsense. God forbid, to arrange a Harem in your room! - John shouts, shaking his head - pancakes with maple and mint syrup are in the kitchen when you guys want to come down, and I pretend this conversation never happened”, he announces while Lydia snorts about "hasty awakenings" and" too sweet syrups."

-

After the awkward adventure he had, when he found himself in front of a sixteen - year - old Derek, it’s impossible for the sheriff to procrastinate and don’t ask about Hale’s fate.   
Just what Stiles needs in the early morning: questions about a person whose name pounds insistently his brain matter.

Stiles just wants to slather a bit of maple syrup on his soft pancakes; joining a serious third degree isn’t on his morning plan.

“So, are there any news about Derek Hale? Have you managed to get him back to his appropriate age, for heaven's sake? Poor guy, I really hope for him that no one has hired a time machine”. 

“Scott said that he’s ok. He and Malia were together, they can tell you Derek was fighting against the Berserkers, and suddenly his body started to change and puff, from any second, the beard and the muscles of the old crabby Derek came back ...”

Lydia rubs on a large quantity of fresh mint syrup on her pancakes, tasting them, and also pours a few drops of it into the milk: "You have been remarkably quiet in the last few hours, this means that you're really worried, Stiles. Why don’t you visit him? You might as well ask him how he is, since he’s so dear to you,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as if she is talking about the weather, although the hint of mischief in her voice is so obvious that is also sensed by the walls.

Stiles seems seriously taken aback by his friend’s words: “He’s not that “dear” to me Lydia, what do you think?! I'm only sorry for whatever tragedy happens to him!”

Malia looks up at the boy, incredulous that her friend has such a cheek, and she sniffs his chemo signals just to be sure that he’s telling the truth.   
They give her the idea that Derek’s subject is far more important to Stiles than what he wants to leak. 

“Wow, for the record, you're lying” she mutters, nibbling at her pancake with enthusiasm, and paying no attention to the syrup that oozes from one side of her lip.

"All right, is this a trial? Thanks for the breakfast Dad, but I'm ok, in fact, I don’t have much of an appetite anymore!”  
Stiles stands up without another word, pushing his chair abruptly and going back up to the stairs two at a time, hiding in his room. Lydia chuckles, while Malia shows a perfect poker face. 

“Well, this means more pancakes for us,” says the were coyote, pouncing on pancakes as if they were her prey.

Lydia notices instantly John’s concern for his son, so she tries to reassure him. “Sheriff, you don’t have to worry about him. He’s constantly preoccupied for Derek Hale, it’s been years by now. This is their odd relationship. They don’t talk too much to each other, they seem to hate each other, but they keep saving each other lives.”

John nods. "I won’t get in their way. Or rather, I’ll do it only when Stiles asks me. And by the way, I know that Derek cares for him the same, so that's okay”   
Lydia and John smile, with millions of words hanging over their heads like a silent dialogue, that Malia can’t understand.

A week needs to pass before Stiles gathers together some nerves to finally breach the loft door.

\- - - - - 

4X03 

The harsh slam of the door still echoes in Derek's ears, as well as Braeden’s words, articulated in what appears to be Gaelic.   
The translation, because apart from him, only Lydia Martin probably knows Gaelic, sounds like this: “The true nature of a person is reflected in their eyes, in your case, their color.”

Since Kate kidnapped him, he thought he had slept for centuries. However, it was only two months. Probably it was enough time for some heavy mutation in his body, like his crystal irises that became yellow.

Thank God he crossed Braeden’s path: she is an effective and ruthless mercenary, able to bring him Kate - possibly at least a little tortured - so Derek can finally shed light on what happened, if what Kate did was black magic or not. 

Derek approaches the mirror next to the desk, and the glass gives him his whole and perfect as usual reflection: he’s still the same Derek Hale, with the irises similar to a country meadow in winter; bunny teeth that his mother loved and his sisters joked about; the melancholic expression of someone who had to lose his innocence unwittingly.   
The worst of it, is that he knows that something in his soul and in his being is inexorably fading like a dying lamp before the unit is switched off completely.

The last time that gold colored his irises, was before knowing Paige, when the innocence of his soul hadn’t yet been spotted.

Derek swallows, feeling a slight sense of terror starting to crawl inside his guts, with his fingertips that rest on the glass.   
He squints his eyes and sighs almost by surprise, not realizing he is holding his breath: he looks for a sign in the reflection of his face, that clearly shows his slow weakening.   
He has to dig deeply, with his pupils that are probing with care, traits that he never really explored - the corners of his eyes and mouth, those areas where emotions tend to accumulate – but he finds nothing.  
He’s the usual Derek that is unable to smile, apparently nothing new.

The loft door opens again, and a clumsy and curious person shows himself behind the werewolf.   
On second thought, he hasn’t seen Stiles since he appeared to him in a dream, comforting him while he was kidnapped by Kate.

But something is off: why isn’t the air in the loft invaded by the smell of ginger and curly fries, typical with Stiles?

Derek sniffs again around him, without receiving any kind of emotion.

A wave of anguish fills his heart, which begins to beat faster; Derek turns around, coming face to face with the young son of the sheriff.

“Hey! I thought you noticed me! I wasn’t actually silent when I entered. And ... wait, don’t tell me you didn’t hear me at all!” Stiles blurts out, and Derek feels a little embarrassed at the thought that he is somewhat surprised by Stiles’ arrival.

Now that he focuses a bit, to his great relief, he can actually hear the pounding smell of anxiety and energy coming from the young man in front of him, as well as his frenetic heartbeat.

There has been a moment long like an eternity, in which he didn’t hear anything.

“Well? What are you doing here?” Derek asks, facing him: here it is Stiles, with his usual habit of snooping around matters who aren’t about him.  
Since he recognized Derek in the woods – and the Hale still wonders how he did it – Stiles didn’t give up on him for a minute. 

Derek would bite his tongue several times, before admitting that the intervention of a mere human pulled him out of trouble more than once. 

Stiles flinches, sounding almost offended by Derek’s nonchalantly tone. “I just came to see how you were. Scott told me the problem of your eyes that changed color, and it seemed strange to me. Switching from blue to yellow would mean a kind of cancellation of guilt. Basically, you returned in the phase of your life before meeting Paige"

Derek hates Stiles’ conclusions, especially when they are on point: he doesn’t know why, but Stiles seems to always be the one that somehow understands him more than anyone.

“Thanks for the deduction”, he snaps, rolling his eyes and folding his arms, protecting himself in some ways by the invasion of the younger boy.

Stiles gives him a couple of sidelong glances, before shaking his head and walking away. “Well, I get that my presence bothers you. Okay, maybe you prefer to discuss your issue with someone like you, a werewolf. I'm the idiot who usually meddles in affairs that don’t concern him. Derek, take care. I’ll send you Scott”  
The truth is that Derek doesn’t want Stiles to go away, that's why he’s so rude.  
His behavior is obviously idiotic, and Derek cursed himself for years because of it.  
He has to stop it with the pride that makes him a loser, and listen to Stiles once and for all.  
"All right! Damn. All right. I didn’t smell your scent when you arrived, that's why I'm scared. It happened just for a second, but it was enough to alert me!”

Stiles gazes at the other with surprise, which shows itself in his wide eyes, disbelieved by the confession of the werewolf.

“What? Don’t tell me that Kate has left you something similar to a virus that is weakening you? She would be absolutely capable of it. She came back to Beacon Hills with some freaking Berserkers after all!”

Derek swallows again, analyzing Stiles’ words deeply. “Kate turned me young again, more specifically during the period when I was in love with her - he confesses, looking down, ashamed - just to fool me and take possession of the Hale talisman. She is now a were jaguar, or something like that, thanks to the gift of my charitable uncle, who doesn’t waste any time, when he has to turn half of the town into were creatures”.

Stiles chuckles at the joke, and Derek feels an absurd satisfaction for making him laugh.  
It’s been a long time since he heard that sound, now that he thinks about it.   
His mind is still rather hazy, and often the memories of his present life, such as feelings and sentiments, are inhibited in the depths of his brain.   
The image of the same Stiles, who flung him from one side of the loft to another, however, struck his mind forcefully, and Derek stops to focus on himself, and finally pays attention to the young man who stands in front of him.

"Now that I think about it, the last time we met we were not exactly allies, since the Oni at your service wanted to get their hands on a relic of my family. H-how…? - Derek asks, staring at Stiles’ honey-colored irises, almost with curiosity and a hint of melancholy - how are you? A possession of that kind isn’t easy to overcome in a blink of an eye”. 

Stiles’ look, usually mixed with some naughty grin, changes instantly, seeming less playful and assuming that bit of tragic seriousness that is expected by the situation he experienced.

Derek thinks that Stiles would be stupid not to confide in him, since no one more than him understands what it means not to have control of his own body.  
It is scary to say, but Stiles killed innocent people: the thought that the same guy who wanted to hurt two Alpha combined into a more powerful one, only with a baseball bat, was capable of taking life, frightened and saddened Derek at the same time.

"I feel awful, Derek – Stiles admits, and the look in Derek's eyes softens - sometimes when my mind wanders and I daydream, I get back to my senses with the terror of becoming a monster even for a few minutes. I still have a lot of nightmares, and sometimes I'm afraid of not knowing how to read. But not as often as before. That is, now the nights where I wake up screaming are three times a week, whereas previously there were six. I had bags under my eyes that were about to enter the autumn – winter collection this year,” he tries to joke, with great courage, Derek gives him credit.

Derek sighs, brilliantly managing to disguise the sound of a bitter laugh. If Stiles has been possessed by the spirit of the Japanese trickster fox, turning into something like Naruto, it was also his fault, as always when he and Scott get into trouble.

Thank God Stiles is recovering, and this newly found sarcasm is the most obvious sign.

Stiles seems to read the torment into Derek's eyes, so he puts gently a hand on Derek’s shoulder, surprising both the werewolf and himself for that contact: "I know you're thinking that my possession is somehow caused by you, but believe me, it’s not. Is it just that I love to put myself in danger to save my friends, I'm the one trying to vent anxiety with jumping into adventure. It’s absolutely not your fault…”

Derek isn’t so sure: "It isn’t? Who has kidnapped your father, forcing you to make a sacrifice that allowed a spirit to possess you? Jennifer, who you know who seduced? Me.  
It's my fault, as usual.  
I think you should stay away from me, because my trouble magnet is shifting from me to you, and honestly? You don’t deserve it.”

"Stay away? And why? Actually since the start of this drama, when Peter bit Scott, we both have lost so much. But you lost your pack, your sister, and even your family because you refused help. And I warn you, Derek, this time I won’t ignore your yellow eyes. I will go to the bottom of it with the analytic method made - in - Stilinski and I will save ourselves from a lot of trouble.  
We are all soldiers in this war, we have to fight” Stiles blurts vehemently, ending his speech with a resolute expression.

Derek realizes - only when Stiles finishes to speak - that his fingers clung to the edge of the table throughout the whole speech, and Stiles still doesn’t take off his hand from his shoulder.

Derek feels a slight tingling in his stomach: he knows that this is the gesture that is used to anchor someone. It’s like Stiles is saying, '' I'm here and I make sure to keep you afloat in the sea of your trouble”

The very thought terrifies him.

Can Stiles be his anchor?

No, he must not influence himself by the idea.

"Thank you. But now I prefer to be alone... I need to think, " Derek says, struck by both Stiles’ behavior and his words.   
Derek’s stomach pinches when he decides to voluntarily interrupt the contact with Stiles, with the shadow of his hand’s heat still perceptible on his shoulder.

Instead of taking offense, Stiles smiles, as if now the boy's brutality is something funny.   
"I'll see you when I have a minute available, between the school and lacrosse. I’m on the team right now, so I have to train. Don’t even think for a minute that I leave you alone in this chaos... neither I nor Scott or the rest of us, of course!"

Derek is almost sure he wants to kick Stiles out of that loft, because the smell of selflessness of that boy was intoxicating him enough to make him vulnerable to the boy in a way Derek never considered.

Before the were wolf can only mutter a word, Stiles turns, his hand on the handle of the door. "This time you won’t do it all alone. I'll help you, it will be fine.  
Everything will be fine".

\------

4x06

The computer screen is white and there are no images, but one word - a name more precisely – that tops the screen in capital letters, colored in a macabre black.

Stiles stares at it with a blank mind and a chest full of anguish, and the “everything will be fine” he promised Derek, rings in his ears like the refrain of a song from the hit parade.

But the music in his head turns into a requiem.

He is still hugging Lydia, who wraps her arms against his back in a powerful embrace.

She has already lost someone, in those few minutes: that Meredith Walker who was found to be the only banshee of her knowledge, and the only one able to teach her to control her powers with more force, without having to ask every time to the unpleasant and disturbing Peter Hale.

But it isn’t that loss, however, to hover like a black veil on the two friends; Derek’s shocking one they just found out, scares them more than they want to admit.   
Lydia wrote his name, to unlock the new part of the deadpool list, this means, along with Allison and Aiden, that he is surely going to die. 

“We’ll save him Stiles. We can’t stand to lose him” she whispers softly, almost personifying an angel, and not the woman who wrote that death sentence by pressing a few buttons on the computer.

Her head is still on Stiles’ shoulder, her hand carefully stroking his back, but Stiles seems lifeless, as if reading the name of Derek as the next victim immerses him in a bath of cold water, and it’s impossible for him to feel anything.

“You're a banshee. You predict death Lydia” he reminds her in a grave voice, breaking away from the contact with brutality.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s going to necessarily die right now. We can save him somehow. We’ve saved people!”

“Who exactly? He's losing his powers, killing him values 15 million dollars, do I have to keep on talking? The keys of the lists were the names of dead people and Derek will end the same way!” Stiles almost cries, looking at her for the first time with a hint of nervousness

“I have to tell him. I have to tell him, I can’t do it otherwise. I have to try and prevent a fucking noble sacrifice that that idiot can actually realize!” Stiles gasps, looking around without really seeing the room.

Breathing seems so heavy to bear, and to inhale oxygen becomes an almost impossible task, as if lungs are formed by stinging crusts.  
Lydia put her hands on the shoulders of his best friend, grabbing and squeezing again with a force that could only be described as supernatural, calming Stiles instantly and curbing his starting panic attack.

“Stiles. I will come with you. We will go together to Derek’s and convince him to stop impersonating the hero of Beacon Hills, especially now that he can no longer defend himself as before”

Stiles looks at her with a raised eyebrow, the essence of skepticism in a gesture so similar to the one Derek always does, that makes Lydia, as witty as she shows to be, quite suspicious that something is going on between those two.

“Do you think he'll listen? Do you think that your presence can move him in some way?”

Lydia stares at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time.   
What happened to the Stiles who pays attention to every word Lydia Martin says, and knows exactly what’s going on in her mind?

Easy. 

He has been ousted by the Stiles who fears seriously for Derek's life.

“Derek listens to you, Stiles. He trusts your opinion and considers it nowadays. I’m only an incentive. You know that no one can say no to me”

Stiles waits only a few seconds for the inevitable hole in the plan, but it doesn’t seem to appear.  
The boy nods, now convinced by the idea and drags Lydia with him to the Jeep, taking place on a seat that suddenly seems more uncomfortable than usual.  
“I will speak with him. You're right, he’ll listen to me” Stiles repeats, allowing himself to smile, even if it’s just for a second.

It’d be fine, he thinks. He and Lydia would help Derek, no matter what. 

The trip up to the loft is quiet, but with an aura of optimism that intoxicates the air inside the Jeep. Something that Stiles thinks is almost miraculous.

He doesn’t need music or small talk, sadly a post - Nogitsune effect: Stiles is no longer able to have fun and to chat as normal as before, even if the sarcasm is still there. 

Lydia knows it, and that’s why she doesn’t even try to speak. 

Her cell phone rings and a "I'm sorry," sent by Jordan Parrish causes a slight shiver that Lydia tries to hide from Stiles. She and Parrish text each other frequently, but she’s not ready to tell everybody.   
Stiles, however, is too busy to reach one hundred km per hours in a living area, for noticing.

-

It’s the second time in her life that Lydia finds herself in front of the loft door waiting to get in, with someone's company.  
Maybe it’s better not to think about it, because Allison was with her the first time, and just the idea of her causes Lydia a nagging pain in her chest.

Stiles is no less adamant, however, with pupils ranging here and there as if somehow he finds a magic key to enter or similar things.  
The boy lays his cold hand on the handle, firmly grasping it, but still unable to open.

“I just want for him to be okay” he confesses, and Lydia smiles, putting her hands over Stiles’ one and squeezing the handle with the same supernatural strength that she showed more than once, that night.

"I know Stiles, believe me. I know” she says, nodding, while being sure that now she guessed much more than what Stiles revealed.  
Stiles looks at her, blessing their friendship, and with a smile in a habitual gesture, he tries to open the door.

That doesn’t move.

Stiles and Lydia part hands instantly, as if they’ve been electrified, their hearts beating more quickly, filled with concern.

“Let's try again” Stiles says, clutching stronger that damn handle, and Lydia with him, their faces showing evident struggle.

The door doesn’t move.

"What does it mean? Why is the door closed, damn it? "Stiles turns around, terrified, toward Lydia who is more worried about him.

"Don’t get caught by panic, Stiles. It is possible that Derek is just outside, and he has finally learned to close the door ..."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, with waves of anger that cross his body at regular intervals.

“You are distracted by something or someone, Lydia. Don’t you remember that Derek's car is parked in front of mine, right now?” 

Lydia blushes, looking away from her friend’s glance.

"What are you talking about? You're not suggesting that I might be interested in someone like Deputy Parrish, because that’s plain nonsense...”

"I haven’t mentioned Parrish, but thanks for the tip. At least there’s an actual guy in your mind now” Stiles snaps, still struggling with the handle of the door, which seems almost closed by a spell.

“Okay, okay, enough of this games. Derek open the freaking door!" Stiles shouts, with the eyes almost close because of rage and both of his hands gathered in a fist.

"Are you sure he’s at home? If he doesn’t answer it means that he’s not there" Lydia tries again to convince her friend, but those words seem useless.

"In what language do I have to tell you that Derek is at home and doesn’t want to open, the bastard? In ancient Aramaic? "Stiles shouts, banging his fist furiously against the door.

Once.  
Twice.  
Three times.

The fists become two, and Stiles starts to let off his rage. Frustration comes like a bomb from those enclosed hands, which are becoming more and more red for the permanent contact against the heavy metal of the door.

“Derek open! You want to avoid me?” Stiles emits sparks from his eyes, and has such a strong and scary gaze, that he would be able to melt the door with the flames in his eyes.  
The rumble of punches expand throughout the room, and Lydia watches helplessly her friend who tries to throw that door off. The same one that no one has ever seen closed.

“Okay okay. Avoid me. For me you no longer exists from today. You are the one who has a bloody death sentence on his head, not me. Your name has unlocked the third part of the list, you moron, I came to help, but if you don’t want me to support you in any way, I won’t! Lydia go, and Derek, good trip to fucking hell!"

Stiles puts a well-placed kick against the handle, the echo that amplifies through the building, as if the blow hasn’t been received only by the handle.

Lydia’s super hearing catches a movement behind the door, and a little sob.   
She sighs, the drama that overcomes her so much that she can’t say a word, and follows Stiles.

Stiles and Lydia don’t exchange a single word in the car, but the banshee can’t help but noticing Stiles’ trembling fingers, holding on the steering wheel.

\------

4x08   
Melissa McCall calls him just after Derek is discharged from the hospital, and maybe the thought that Derek was in a place like that, and above all to know that he actually needed an hospital, are the moves that convinced Stiles to find himself in front of the same door. that only the night before he desperately kicked.  
Stiles - this time alone - opens the door with a disarming ease, cursing the whole world and especially the idiot of epic proportions, owner of the loft, that learned to use the keys on the wrong day.  
The hall is clear of obstacles or tables, as always, and Stiles walks in it at the speed of light, the eyes that ranges far and wide, intent to look for Derek.

He had a bad premonition, since he parked the Jeep, a few dozen floors down: it was as if the aura of power contained in that room had vanished completely, and he knew too well what it meant.

It’s midnight and his parents taught him good manners: those are the only reasons why he doesn’t scream against the night the werewolf’s name, worried of being able to actually wake him up.

The moon lights up the darkest caverns like never before, by coloring objects and even Stiles’ face, with a new force, as if this time she can express freely all her power.  
It happens also in Stiles and Lydia’s rooms, those who aren’t dependent on the satellite.

Suddenly a terrible thought swoops into Stiles’ head and the presentiment he felt in the doorway materializes in front of his eyes.

Derek Hale is asleep on the bed, his chest falls and rises on regular and quiet breaths.  
The moon praises all the features of his face: unshaven, his eyes closed and only apparently rested, with a serious scowl that never abandoned him since when reappeared in Beacon Hills.

Stiles doesn’t want to wake him up, but the red stain on his white undershirt is too visible, and is expanding fast.  
He looks like the picture of a child who suffered more tragedy than he could bear, but he tried to sleep them off anyway.

Stiles walks cautiously toward Derek, holding out his hand in a reassuring gesture and placing it on Derek’s chest. The cold and the heat of their fingers are mixed, and Derek turns in his sleep to the young Stilinski, who suppresses a sad smile, although the situation is very tragic.

Stiles tightens his grip, just like Derek does.

"Hey, Derek?" He whispers, with a wistful look.

He doesn’t know whether or not to wake him, not wanting to interrupt Derek’s sleep, but at the same time it’s impossible to ignore the dark spot on the boy's side.

"Derek. The wound caused by the hospital shooting is bleeding" mutters the boy, expecting the super sharpened werewolf hearing to catch those words and to finally wake up.

But Derek continues to sleep.

Stiles tightens even more his fingers on Derek’s incredibly warm hand, and the boy wakes up suddenly, panting like someone who just had a bad dream and believes he’s still living in the shadow of terror.

“Derek, you're bleeding. I can bandage you if you want, I learned first aid at school, I know exactly how I can help-”

Stiles tries to convince Derek by talking faster as usual, but he stops just a second later, sighing resignedly.  
The clear upset gaze of the other speaks more than a thousand words.  
Derek can entertain a speech of an hour with those eyebrows, more expressive than he has ever been, and Stiles would still understand.  
It is odd, and a little inconceivable, but Derek Hale has very few secrets for Stiles, now.  
Despite everything, the young Hale refuses to get help, and Stiles can’t do anything but accept defeat.

"You don’t want my help.”

"I'm going upstairs to take a shower. It’s midnight. Go home, I don’t need anyone. The wound will heal”

Stiles frowns, staring in disbelief at the white back of the werewolf, who is going upstairs, dragging his feet as if walking costs him a tremendous effort, and above all silently moaning in pain for the injured side.

Stiles puts aside the defeat, trying to convince Derek one last time: "I don’t think it’ll heal by itself Derek, really I can help ..."

“It will heal. Now go away, I told you there is no reason why you're here now” Derek snaps, going up the first steps, more slowly.

Stiles stares at him with rage that is growing inside him: he doesn’t want to be fooled by a damn werewolf in obvious crisis. He ran from his house in the middle of the night to make sure of his condition, and this is the way Derek treated him?

Okay.

He can be bad, when he wants. He can hit the sweet spot of people, he knows how to hurt them. This was something the Nogitsune didn’t need to teach him, unfortunately.

"Well, I suppose your overhyped werewolf senses have heard me coming in the loft, right? How strange, the last time we met, when Brett scratched you, it took you a lot more to regenerate. Your wolf has probably betrayed you, or got sick of you, with that behavior of yours. You know, sometimes you seems as sociopathic as your lady Kate. You’d have been a really nice couple, Romeo and Juliet style ... the hunter and the werewolf. Too bad for yourself, thanks to her actually, you’re now just a useless piece of meat”

Derek spin around, green eyes flashing with anger and the pupils that are dilated slightly. He grinds his teeth, becoming red – faced for the nervousness.

"Don’t you dare to speak again Stilinski! I didn’t think y-you, of all people ..."

"Are you stuttering? I've never seen you so nervous “ Stiles smiles sadistically, with the veins in his neck pulsing with rage.   
Everything he just said to Derek feels wrong and hurts so bad, that Stiles has to swallow down some tears.   
This is not what he thinks of Derek. His only intent was to hurt him with words, to provoke him somehow, just to have an actual explanation about what’s going on with his powers. 

He is tired of being told not to get involved, leaving Derek alone, to go away.

No, he won’t leave Derek alone, at any cost.

Stiles’ smile broadens, and Derek sees the shadow of a millennial spirit on that face.  
Derek turns back, going up the stairs and running from the room, that becomes smaller and breathing is heavy in there.

The problem has now ceased to be such, turning into drama.

He hasn’t heard Stiles’ heartbeat.  
He hasn’t smell his distinctive perfume.  
He hasn’t even heard his footsteps as he reached.

Derek opens the bathroom door with a hand that can hardly stop trembling. He takes off his shirt with goose bumps on his arms and terror chills running across his back, where the tattoo is still visible.  
The first teardrop is mixed with cold water emitted from the shower head, hot and salty.  
The second is impossible to hold back, as well as the third and fourth, that crosses Derek’s paler face.  
The hand fall on the wet tiles, while the nails scratch ceramics, without breaking it the slightest.

Derek bites his lip until he feels the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, the same one that often disappears after a few seconds, and now both floods his mouth and drips from his stinging hip.  
His stomach feels blocked by a brick, his throat feels close, and breathing seems impossible.  
He has never experienced a panic attack in his life, because werewolves rarely suffer from psychological pain.  
Or rather, they do so only having difficulty on healing the wounds.

The reality settles in his chest, and for a moment Derek gasps.

He will no longer regenerate instantly.

Stiles is right.

Those words falls on him as the blade of the guillotine, making him slam his fist against the wall, and then another, while feeling his legs so soft they let him end up on the floor, bathing in soap, blood and tears.

Derek can barely hear the hurried footsteps of Stiles, who opens the door immediately after hearing those fists crammed with frustration, that even someone human like him has been able to guess.

Derek is sitting on the bottom of the shower, barely breathing, his eyes close and his knees to his chest, to hide his nakedness, which takes a meaning far less erotic and more dramatic.  
He is naked in his soul, devoid of that power that has always flowed in his veins, and that made him proud to be one of the Hales.

He has lost his home, his family, his sister and now his powers.  
What has he left?

A cold hand rests on his shoulder, while the gush of water from the shower is turned off, giving way simply to tears.

“Sorry, but my hands are always a bit cold, I'm an idiot, I could have warmed them” Stiles crouches next to him, with just part of the shower to separate them, without worrying about getting wet.

Derek's eyes widen, without even the desire to wipe his cheeks. He looks down with the shame that Stiles can see on his entire face.

"Go away Stiles” he whispers icily, his body shivering for the cold, and because of the evident discomfort.  
A hand goes down to the wound, on which the crust formed: hard, red and stinging. At least it stopped bleeding.

"Luckily you don’t bleed” Stiles nods, ignoring the other's words, and heading for the closet where he takes a bathrobe, which falls on Derek.  
The tension between the two boys is expanded to the entire room: it looks like a soap bubble fill with concrete, able to burst suddenly.

The boy tries to remain stoic, even though he is well aware of how Stiles has repeatedly seen him in moments of extreme difficulty and however he decided to never judge him, helping him on the contrary, despite his obvious condition of a mere human.  
Derek closes his eyes when the first violent shudder goes through him from side to side, his heart is beating uncontrollably and limbs are impossible to keep still.  
Stiles tightens his grip on his shoulder, but the Hale doesn’t even hear him.

"Derek breathe. Calm down. I'm used to have panic attacks, you just have to breathe and knowing that for anything I’m next to you. I’m not leaving you alone, so you can stop acting as a fucking antisocial ... "

Derek's eyes are darker and full of fright more than ever, and they travel from Stiles to the entire room, as if he actually doesn’t really see it.

"Derek ..."

The boy knows he has almost reached the limit, now he can’t even sit still, because every part of his body is shaken by chills.   
His bowels too.

He has had enough of trouble, and of Kate who returned, so she can manipulate, abuse, deprive him of the few things he loves.

Stiles is still there, supporting him with a simple touch. He, to think of it, has also been manipulated and abused by Nogitsune.   
He lives in a situation of constant danger too.  
But he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve to spend his teenage existence like this.  
Derek has to move it away from him, because it is better not to have Stiles next to him, but knowing that the boy is fine, rather than with a hand on his shoulder, but in a life threatening situation.

After all, he keeps losing people he loves ...

He loves?

Stiles mirrors his honey colored eyes against the simple green of Derek’s, and the Hale can’t hold it back anymore.

Derek gets up, dodging Stiles’ hand with an angry gesture and pushing him away, beyond the shower, in the middle of the room.  
He has to stay away from him, to have him still healthy.   
Derek doesn’t even care about the sensation of peace and well-being he feels with Stiles, when there is an awareness that only by closing his eyes and opening them again, in the state where Beacon Hills is, Stiles can be there one moment, and then disappear forever.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you always want to get away from me?” Stiles shouts, this time with his face distorted with rage, his lips stretched downwards and the eyes wide open.  
He begins to tremble.

Derek dodges the bathrobe with rush, his mind clouded by fatigue, because living as a human and have to deal with a thousand emotions that the power of the wolf could filter out, it’s a huge test for him.  
Derek stands up, showing himself completely, because now the truth is stark before their eyes, impossible to dispel.

"Because I’m HUMAN! I’m weak, Stiles! I-I'm not in a position to be able to protect anyone of you guys this time. I am helpless! Don’t you understand?”

Stiles crosses his arms in disbelief at the sudden confession of a Derek who has decided to come to terms with reality.

"Humans aren’t all weak. Not if they don’t want to be. I have my balls full of that crap! Look at Allison! She was human like me, yet she discovered how to kill the fucking ninja spirits, she has never spared herself when she faced werebeast, Kanimas and all the chaos that happened"  
Derek feels a knife in the center of the chest, albeit imaginary, pressing against his ribs, wounding him.

Stiles really had the courage to talk about that girl?

"Oh yes. She was incredibly brave, no doubt. And she went even against the beliefs of her entire family and all of us to defend Scott. There is a small problem that I think you have missed, my dear king of sarcasm. Allison is DEAD! She’s dead even before living the senior year, the senior prom, college, maybe a family with Isaac or Scott, or decide to continue the activity of protection she started. Allison gave his life for a world that doesn’t belong to her, because she was human! And you ... you risked the same, I can’t forget it.  
It’s impossible to face the supernatural world as a human! Either you become a monster, or you lose your life in an attempt to fight it!”

"But I survived, Derek! Your world made me a monster, but I'm still here! Human, with a broken soul, but I walk, breath and I try in every way to help my friends, to avoid losing others.   
Being human doesn’t mean being weak, Derek, and both me and Allison proved it! You are still strong and smart, and for the umpteenth time, you are not alone in living this drama. And I promise you that’ll do anything to turn you back into the werewolf you are supposed to be!”

Stiles gets closer, not caring a little, about Derek’s reaction, who by then curls up against the shower again, as if to continue talking is a Herculean task for him.  
This time Stiles grabs Derek's face with both hands, his beard itches to the contact with the other's palms.  
He is completely helpless. Naked in body and soul, and something broke loose in Stiles’ chest, something warm and pleasant, that has nothing to do with the perennial ice he uses to feel in his heart.

Stiles slightly raises the corners of his lips, knowing that his pupils staring at Derek, widen.

"I have lived all your highs and lows, Derek. When you were back in Beacon Hills to find your sister, and you were almost killed by wolfsbane; when you found out that your uncle had betrayed you; when you became Alpha, when you were at the top of your power, and with a bunch of loyal betas; when you were paralyzed, and you had to ask for help to the simple human that is talking right now. Let alone when you found out you were manipulated by Jennifer, and when you tried desperately to save your betas. I've always been with you, Derek. And I felt your obvious concern when we were in trouble and Chris Argent threatened to shoot me, in your loft.  
You don’t have to think even in the least that I will leave you alone in this mess. We’ll resolve it all Derek. Really..."

They don’t know how it happened, but they get much closer: Stiles can almost count Derek’s lashes and Derek doesn’t stop staring at the straight line made of moles along Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles' hands are so warm now, on Derek’s wet cheeks, who is gazing at Stiles through a thin layer of mixed admiration and something deeper.   
There’s desperation in the green of his irises, as if in reality the fact of being human and helpless is not the worst thing that happened to him.

“It’s not just this…me being different, and you know it. I heard you yesterday. My name was the third key. I’m going to die.” Derek mutters with a broken voice.   
Stiles feels something in his chest that breaks violently: he doesn’t want to lose Derek, not after all they’ve been through during those months.

“No. This won’t be the end.” Stiles pushes closer Derek’s wet body against him, tying his arms around his waist and hugging him with vigor, feeling the warmth of that body wrapping him like a blanket. 

“It’s the prediction of a banshee” Derek whispers, leaning on Stiles’ chest, rocked by the beating of his heart, stable and reassuring, answering the unspoken question that they both know is standing between them. 

“I do not care. I don’t Derek. I'll do anything in my power to save you, I swear. You’ve been through hell to suffer even this” Derek pulls away slightly, though still able to feel Stiles’ breath to end up directly against his lips.   
Derek looks up and Stiles is there, in front of him, as always when he is facing difficulties during those months.   
And Derek can’t help but put his forehead against Stiles, their lips just a few millimeters away, with no one taking the initiative to make them collide.   
"Thanks," Derek mutters, clutching Stiles’ face in his hands, and keeping the contact between their foreheads, eyes closed with his heart that triples its speed. 

Stiles smiles slightly, rubbing like a kitten against Derek’s face and putting his hands over Derek, again. 

“I promise you, Derek. I won’t let anything happen to you, believe me” he says with a loving tone, taking Derek's hand and placing it on his heart, to make him feel the regular beats and somehow the truth of his words.   
Derek understands way more than what Stiles promises, that gesture that symbolized the fact that Stilinski, despite everything, still treats him as a werewolf. 

“I believe you” Derek says with a lump in his throat and a heavy heart, still touching Stiles’ forehead with his own.

\---------  
4x12 

The pale orange of the dawn, stains with its light the ruins of "La Iglesia", the epic theater, but probably not the last, of the clash between good and evil.   
Between werewolves and hunters. 

Between Kate and Derek, who finally after years of terror, manages to come to terms with his past, defeating the woman once and for all.  
Of course, in reality Derek hasn’t killed Kate, as Scott hasn’t killed Peter, but for a while those two were definitely knocked out.

It has been one of the hardest and exhausting nights the whole pack has ever experienced.

Kate in fact, kidnapped Scott and Kira just the night before in the loft, and Derek Hale, with the rest of the pack – that saw the extraordinary presence of Braeden who wanted to atone her sins for not being able to capture the Argent when she should - rushed to Mexico, to save the True Alpha and the Kitsune.  
When Derek proposed to leave, no one resisted except Stiles, and Derek himself had to calm him more than once.

"There are three werewolves and three humans. We're even, I don’t see the problem. Braeden is good at handling weapons, I have learned thanks to her help and that of your father, nothing will happen to me” Derek replied, just before getting into the car, along with Stiles and Liam, with the latter inexperienced to handle the full moon.

None of them noticed the Berserker standing as a guard in front of the church, once they arrived.  
It seemed that even Lydia’s prediction was forgotten.

The Berserker blade, that sheared Derek's side, has been so violent and unexpected that even Stiles had reflexively touching his side to stem his pain, clearly psychosomatic.  
About that night, Stiles remembers the amount of such high adrenaline that clouded his mind; Derek moans of pain that still provoked shivers down his spine, and the shooting of a worried Braeden, who became friend with Derek, taking care of him while the boy was giving his last breaths.  
Derek just told Stiles to leave him there leaning against a rock, because the priority was to save Scott.

He would have been an useless weight, moreover virtually dead.

Stiles froze completely, unable to understand why Peter left with a glum look, why Braeden was crying next to Derek, and why his own legs were transformed into marble blocks.

He had to save Scott, right? Derek had his judgment written, it was useless to think about saving him.  
Only when Malia and Liam left, Derek turned to Stiles, just whispering.

"Hey, hey. Save him ... "

And it was as if Derek remembered that damn speech in the shower, when Stiles ensured that, despite his status as a human, he would make it to get out alive from that chaos.  
Stiles was going to make it, because he had the courage running through his veins, along with white and red blood cells.

Stiles turned back a last time - while Derek smiled with difficulty and blood on his face - with the sole aim of saving Scott, not that his mind was focusing on the terrible thought of how that could be the last time he saw Derek Hale.

It was useless to describe in words Stiles’ relief, when out of the church, he sees Derek alive and well.

He has to lean against the door of the church, in amazement, with the after effect of adrenaline that begins to stop his mental faculties.  
Scott, Malia and Liam run over Derek, hugging him strongly and sniffing his newfound power, before leaving Scott with Argent and the Calaveras, who want to talk to him urgently.  
Malia hasn’t stopped staring at Stiles, both standing against one of the many ruins of the church, with her arms crossed and a shocked expression.

“No, listen. Are you serious? Stiles go! Hug him!”

"I can’t!” he mutters, observing Derek from a considerable distance, and without losing any of the boy’s movement, as if he expects to see him disappear, while Derek is carrying the weapons with Braeden, in his car.

Something is obviously restraining the two boys, as if Derek is somehow ashamed of his recklessness, and Stiles hasn’t the courage to forgive it yet.

“Stiles seriously, go. What do you want to do, avoid him after he was pretty much dead? Why this immature behave? I thought this adventure would have ended with a true love kiss or something like that!”   
Derek glances at them, shaking his head and continuing to carry weapons, with an unusual smile running on his face.  
Stiles rolls his eyes, looking away from Derek and Braeden, without noticing the sporadic glances of the mercenary.

“Remind me to tell Lydia to stop letting you read silly and meaningless romance novels. There's no reason why you shouldn’t prefer some healthier horror novels, and minding your own business among chapters.” 

"Go on Stiles, we’re all werewolves now. We can hear you. All of us” Liam talks, using the same tone with Stiles, he’d have had with a dumb human being, who can’t see the obvious.

"What?" Stiles barely whispers, looking back at Liam, completely taken aback. 

He dodges Malia’s fury at the last second: she shows blue eyes, with fangs and claws: “You can’t be that dumb Stiles. For a moment I thought I’d reduce your neck like a stew such as Braeden’s. It's your fault anyway, that I can’t hold back my nerves. Go, say something to him, he’s leaving for South America to stay with Cora. I don’t know if he’ll ever come back”

"He won’t Malia. I heard him” Liam says, with sadness.

Malia stares at Stiles intently, incredulous as how her friend isn’t even thinking about taking any kind of initiative.

Derek is ready to leave and Stiles still stands, motionless?

Finally, Stiles takes a step forward, remembering how to walk. He takes another, and then another and then he stands next to Scott, who looks at Derek, proud of what the werewolf has become. 

All the boys, even Scott, turn to Stiles.

“Stiles if you don’t tell him what you feel for him, I'll break your arm” Malia snaps to his ear.  
But Stiles can’t find the words. He’s too upset and tired from that horrendous journey, with his feelings inside fighting like savages.

“Stiles I’ll tell Lydia what you’re doing and she'll steal all your games, while screaming some sense into your brain” Malia threatens, but her words are simply swept away by the Mexican breeze.

Stiles surprises everyone, though, by taking another step.  
Derek looks at him exactly at the same time, hearing clearly his friend’s steps.

"Derek!" calls Stiles, holding out his arm and stopping, as if time stands still with him.

The words in Stiles’ head are impossible to untangle, difficult to reach and to reveal in front of everyone. He is not ready to give away his real feelings.  
With Lydia it was all easier, because she understood on her own, witty as she is, and in the end they remained friends, and it was for the best.

But Derek is different. Stiles knows that it’s possible that his feelings are reciprocated, and yet...

“Have a good trip. Take care of yourself. It’s the best for the both of us. Just take care.” he only manages to babble, lowering his hand, conscious of the look of all laying on him.

Derek nods.

This isn’t the right time to talk about the painful sensation that is pressing against his heart, about the chills caused by Stiles being so close.

This isn’t the time, because maybe there are too many people to finally confess his obvious feelings; maybe Derek just needs to get away and take up the reins of his life, first think about himself and then about Stiles.

The young Stilinski would understand, surely.

Derek stares at all of them, those boys to whom he feels more than he wants to admit, and his eyes falls on Scott, who he designates in some way as his brother.  
Derek says goodbye to him with a simple nod and a smile, then he looks at Stiles.

“Thanks. And, you, take care of yourself too.” he only says, turning around to get in the car with Braeden.

She is a good girl, Braeden, despite her status of a mercenary.

She would keep him company until they get to Cora in South America, then she will come back to Beacon Hills, to hunt the Desert Wolf.  
At the moment, Braeden, who is sitting in the passenger seat, is studying him as if she can’t decide how exactly to “punish” him for his behavior.

“Listen, I’m telling you now, so I don’t think about it later: if there was a damn race of idiots, you wouldn’t even participate, to give a minimum possibility to others.” 

“I don’t want to argue, Braeden. I need to change my life and to do it right away. I want to cut ties with the past and to be with my sister, even if it means going against my feelings”, Derek shrugs, starting the engine and moving instantly, without even looking up.   
The truth is that his body is definitely paralyzed by fear, and knowing that Stiles feels the same, because now he can sense it thanks to his werewolf powers, terrorize him, more than making him calm him, as happens to normal people.

But Derek knows that he’s not properly normal.   
The boy turns on the radio, a gesture that never does in the car, and the music from a spy movie floods the cabin. 

“Feeling Good ? It almost seems made for you! A new dawn, a new day, a new life!” 

“And I'm feeling good. Or at least I try” he nods, agreeing to the lyrics. 

“You won’t be that good when Cora finds out what you did to Stiles, believe me. And if I were you I wouldn’t even be so sure that he waits for you. Why should he? Because he loves you, perhaps? And, you're running away from him, let me guess, because you love him? You don’t realize that you both are two complete idiots?” 

“Braeden, enough. I can’t enjoy the song in peace” Derek dismisses her by turning up the volume. 

The Mexican landscape is full of sand and dirty roads. It can be similar to that in South America, for what he knows.

Braeden shakes her head, regretting the freedom of his motorcycle and looking out the window with boredom and disappointment in the pupils.   
No one understands that Derek wants to finally shake off the last year and a half, and start living again, along with what is left of his family.

He wants that part of his life back, and then, maybe, trying to concentrate on his heart, that still isn’t ready to give to someone, even if that someone is Stiles.  
Now the sun is high in the sky, warmer, caressing with its rays Derek's face, and he can’t help but smile with his problems that are slipping off, as well as the sand that is going through the wheels.

\-------- 

5x01 

"And then Cora told me that in his brother’s library, there was a book that we can use to learn how to live with our powers, since we can’t actually do it fully. It’s been three months since we got here, guessing the dust quantities. Stiles, remember we have to sweep it a bit, just to keep it clean until Derek comes back".

"He won’t, Lydia"

Stiles shrugs, holding the door of the loft, which for the umpteenth time, it’s wide open for them.   
The noise of the door’s rushing makes his heart to hurt; Stiles, joined by Lydia, Scott, Kira and Malia, sees the window in front of him that reflects a blinding sunlight; the orange spreads everywhere, like the room is still inhabited.   
Stiles is still in contact with Cora and Braeden, like Lydia and Malia, while the only ones to speak with Derek through messages, the few the boy actually answers, are Scott and Kira, who was surprisingly very sympathetic to the werewolf. 

"He won’t come back" Stiles repeats with a sigh, turning on the phone and waiting for a message, a contact, he knows will never come. 

Scott puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, comforting his friend. 

That was a particular situation, like the saying "If you truly love someone, let him go, and if he really loves you, he will come back” but Stiles prefers not to live it at all.   
Everything aches all over, when he thinks about Derek, but he can’t do much about it, because Derek needed to gain back all those years that the pain has stolen him.   
He needed to completely renew the relationship with his sister, and Stiles wasn’t the one to deny it to Derek.   
It is the right thing to do; just move and go on, each other with their own lives. 

\----------

5x20 

The sound of the last bell, leaves Stiles motionless for a moment, sitting straight on the chair. He repeats to himself several times, that it’s only a legend to feel sad the last day of school, because actually the only thing that he’d miss will be the prosperity of the four walls, maybe. 

You don’t say goodbye to your best friends on the last day of school, after all.

Stiles gathers the books scattered on the desk, noticing how he is the only one left in the room, lit by warm rays of the upcoming summer. A chill runs down his back, and for a moment he feels a bit out of breath. 

He grabs the backpack from one shoulder alone, crossing the empty corridor: arriving at the threshold of the exit door, Stiles ignores beautifully the voices of the people around him, along with the water balloons that all the senior students are throwing to each other, and he heads for the door, turning to the main corridor. 

He would miss only his locker and his desk in the English classroom, where he used to hide snacks or jokes for Finstock.   
On a second thought, he would miss even Finstock, with his whistle always attached to the neck, the perpetually angry look and his constant screaming "Stilinski!" that rings in his ears, making him smile. 

That school had seen the last battle, just the night before, between human and supernatural.   
Peter Hale killed Kate Argent definitely, and Scott, tired of owning a power that he knew would never really belong to him, had surprisingly decided to leave the imprint of his claws against the Hale’s neck, running a river of blood. 

His eyes came back to be dark brown again, his nails were not claws anymore and he began to breathe heavily, because of asthma.   
He lost his powers as a werewolf, and honestly, he didn’t mind. 

Scott was actually happier that he could finally live a quieter life, because the supernatural had brought too much trouble with it. 

The roar of a motorcycle collects Stiles from his thoughts instantly, and the boy looks up: Malia and Braeden are wearing helmets, with the mercenary holding a shotgun on her shoulders. 

"Are you sure that when my mother meets you, you're not going to shoot a bullet through her head?" Malia asks, with a hint of terror.  
Braeden rolls her eyes, turning on the bike: "I promise I won’t do anything. Actually the real threats has been eradicated.   
Peter is defeated, the Nemeton shot down, I believe you won’t see bad guys in Beacon Hills for a while…”

"Are you leaving?" Stiles asks, rather amazed, approaching the duo.

They both nodded: "I want to meet my mother, now that Peter is dead ... and Braeden has other missions to deal with. Beacon Hills gave me friends and a family that I never thought I was being able to find, but I'm a coyote, and I want my freedom back" Malia sighs, holding out a hand.

Stiles stares down the five fingers outstretched in greeting, feeling a wave of melancholy rising and settling in his throat.  
He was destined to lose, somehow all the people to whom he is bound, sooner or later.   
It was very strange that Malia hasn’t simply shrugged, to greet Stiles.  
She is never been the type of handshakes or hugs, and even Braeden, for that matter.

It’s Stiles turn to shakes his shoulders, not caring about their inability to express affection and wrapping both in a narrow and deep hug.

"Thanks for your help. Thanks for not knocking me out, although I am the most talkative of all Beacon Hills”

"We won’t miss you and your blabbing Stiles, don’t worry” Malia chuckles, and Braeden set in motion, moving away without another word.

The roar of the motorcycle shakes in Stiles’ eardrums, and he sees the hair of two girls in the breeze, under the helmet, conscious of how this is just one more goodbye, but not a farewell.

All the guys around him - while a drop of sweat trickles down his temple, effect of the first summer heat - are busy greeting and hugging.  
Only one, specifically the one with the long and perfectly straightened strawberry blonde hair, is kissing passionately a twenty-five years old boy, with the deputy shirt. 

Stiles smiles.

Seeing Lydia so happy gives him a strange feeling of calm throughout the body, and pure joy, because she deserves the best, after all she'd been through.

And Jordan Parrish is the best, considering his adoringly green as a meadow gaze, the same Lydia shows at him, and one that Stiles has never seen on the girl.  
It was shy, almost private and loving, like a woman who’s looking at her husband on the altar.  
Nothing to do with pissed but friendly looks, almost sisterly, who Stiles gets from her, or those full of sex she used to send Jackson, or the most dominatrix uncaring reserved for Aiden.

The girl looks up, and her clear eyes meets Stiles’ ones.  
She is happy, with her lips perfectly red that curve upwards, creating her typical adorable dimples.   
She looks at Stiles straight in the eyes, almost as if part of that joy it’s also his merit.

Just a couple of years ago, Lydia didn’t even know what Stiles looked like, ignoring him in a mix of a childish and experienced woman way, with a bag resting on her forearm and the ease of the one who governed the whole school and can get it all with just a snap.

Lydia was Stiles’ first love, and although it never happened, the boy has still inevitably reserved a special place in his heart for her.

Lydia nods toward Stiles, like she’s greeting a part of her life and focuses on the boy in front of her, that new chapter called “College and Jordan”.

Stiles looks away, searching for the other person he considers part of his family, albeit in their veins doesn’t flow the same blood.  
Scott McCall is busy giggling with Ken Yukimura and Kira. They are arguing heatedly about a trip to Japan after school, and then college, where surely the two lovebirds won’t separate.  
Scott would go anywhere with Kira, he couldn’t afford to lose other people he cared about.

Stiles smiles joyfully, and Scott notices the gesture, as if his wolf senses - despite not possessing powers anymore- aren’t completely inhibited.

Scott greets Kira and her father, the first with a kiss on the lips and the second with a friendly and polite handshake, and he runs to Stiles and hugs him.  
It was fine between them, finally they had clarified the misunderstandings and quarrels the had to deal with in that last period, leaving all behind because their friendship can’t be scratched.   
They had no intention of scupper all those years of mutual respect and bond they created.

The two stare toward the school for the last time, remembering the whole amount of trouble that place gave them, and then they turn around, closing their high school chapter forever.

They moved along the road that leads to the preserve, by heart, discussing on their choice of college.

"Lydia is thinking of going to study in Oxford, and moving to England with Parrish. It’s a bit awkward, especially if she meets Jackson somehow. I don’t think it’s good to open old wounds…" Stiles begins, gesturing a lot as he usually does. 

Scott frowns at him: "But Jackson is no longer in London! Didn’t I tell you?” 

Stiles opens his mouth in shock, thinking he forgot how to talk properly:" Sorry, what?"   
The boy's eyes widen, shocked by the sudden revelation, and Scott suddenly explains: "I forgot to tell you. Cora wrote to me when, in fact, when we didn’t speak to each other, and she told me she has a new pack based in New York, with Isaac and Jackson. It’s run by his aunt, the sister of Der – Cora. The sister of Cora’s father. She managed to escape the fire…"   
Stiles nods, biting the inside of his cheek. 

They are clearly turning around the “Derek” argument and maybe it’s better not to talk about it, because between the two guys lingers an awkward silence, and Stiles starts to look around while playing with rotten leaves. 

"Changing the subject… don’t you miss being a werewolf? You spent the last two years running around the woods in the moonlight: if I were you, I would miss so much adrenaline coming from lycanthropy."   
Scott shakes the inhaler he always keeps at hand, breathing inside it, because walking leaves him breathless: "Stiles, because of lycanthropy I've lost too many people who I loved. The messed up world of the supernatural is not for me. I don’t like to kill people, I wasn’t born to be a hero." 

Stiles nods, along with his friend’s words, because basically Scott is right.  
Even if it was a fast-paced world full of adventures, now the two boys have had enough, and the desire for a normal life is almost overwhelming. 

Scott and Stiles are so deeply in the conversation that they don’t even know where they are: at some point, the territory becomes more rich in shrubs and Stiles looks around carefully, almost as if they ended up in a familiar area.

There was a stream he just climbed over, and lots of green leaves, sign that the summer is about to explode around them.   
He feels like he’s part of a dejavù, or a cosmic loop or something. Stiles looks around, feeling almost observed: ok, he doesn’t miss that feeling, to be honest.

"Scott? Don’t you think someone is observing us?" Stiles whispers to his friend, who shakes his head and snorts. "No, Stiles. The constant anxiety of being followed by monsters is gone. You have to take a deep breath and remember that NO ONE follows us anymore, Ok?".

The sound of some footsteps is clear and loud, and Scott can’t believe his eyes, staring at the figure in front of him.  
They really are followed by someone, the last person the two boys believe they can see. 

"Is it possible that you haven’t learned yet that this is private property?" says a voice with a pedantic tone, and Stiles looks up quickly, enough to make his neck to ache.   
A young man, he is probably twenty-four, approaches in such a furtive way, they believe he doesn’t even walk.   
He wears a leather jacket too big for him, his beard is perfectly cured, and he has one cryptic and amused look, so different from the one he had the first time they met, just in the same place.   
Stiles feels the cold shivers running down his spine like spiders, standing still, without even thinking of rubbing his aching neck. 

Scott walks towards the other guy without pleasantries, because he is like this, spontaneous and without malice.   
He’s not mad at Derek Hale for abandoning them, the year before, because he understands his reasons.   
He understands that the boy needed to break away from all of them and Beacon Hills, to return later, finally intact and himself, without the weight of drama that curves his shoulders, making him older than he really was.   
Scott takes a step, and then another, and he doesn’t stop to keep that idiotic smile on his face, like the puppy he is, when his body bumps against Derek’s as they exchange a fraternal embrace: the Hale sniffs his friend, letting him go instantly, ignoring Scott’s laughter, coming from the heart of the former true Alpha. 

"What the hell happened? You’re not a werewolf anymore!" he shouts incredulously, and Scott shakes his head.   
It’s not a thing for him, being a werewolf. The supernatural created too much trouble, and he had no desire to fight anymore, honestly. "It has never been a thing for me, the whole lycanthropy drama" he explains, with that honey - smile Derek respects.

"I'm glad you're back, Derek. Are you going to stay, or this is just a quick visit?" Scott tries to change the subject, because suddenly the werewolf looks down, biting his lip.   
Is he nervous? Someone like him, stoic, which tends to never show his emotions? "I don’t know – Derek replies, with more honesty than he has ever shown - I want to solve the issues that I left open, and then decide whether to leave or not". 

Derek shifts slightly, indicating Stiles with a nod: Stiles hasn’t even opened his mouth, which for him is a record. Derek’s words however, blow up all his frustrations.   
"So now I become a “matter that needs to be resolved”, huh?” Stiles shouts, taking a stride toward Derek, waving his arms and trying in some ways to aim at the boy, although Derek stops every movement. 

Stiles gained more muscle mass than anyone during that year, and wants to use it to hurt that pretty face that makes him crazy.

"What do you think, that the world revolves around you? You basically vanished from the world, and ok, I accepted that you wanted more space, and I understood, I let you do what you wanted.  
But then... then I noticed how you kept chatting with Scott, with Kira and you've never asked how I was even once, you moron!"

Every word is followed by a punch, every movement makes them to seem two dancers of an important theater, dancing before the final showdown.  
Stiles doesn’t give a second's of respite to Derek, panting heavily every time he raises his arm, but the other seems almost enjoying the situation. 

"Stiles" Derek chuckles, slamming him against a tree and holding him by the wrists, but with his thumb gently caressing the back of his hand, "If you keep talking I can’t kiss you".

Stiles stops moving, as if Derek has Kanima poison on his fingers. 

Has he heard right? 

"Huh ...?" 

The young son of the sheriff becomes really aware of who he faces. Of the guy who returned after a year, just to clarify the relationship with him. And Stiles observes the traits of Derek’s face, that he knows he loves, that turned from sharp and melancholy to relaxed and happy in only a year, and he looks into his eyes for confirmation of what he already knows.  
He holds a little stronger his hands into those of Derek, and notices how the dark pupils dilate only one millimeter.

Oh. 

Derek is bending over him with a maddening slowness, his fingers separating from Stiles to travel along the entire length of his arms and reaching the face. 

Even Stiles’ smoldering anger is fading, because of those gestures.   
Stiles’ eyes rest on Derek’s lips while they’re getting closer and closer, so that Stiles can almost feel the tickle of Derek’s breath.   
Derek grabs his face with the same delicacy, as if it is a work of art that needs to be preserved, and only him is allowed to take a look. 

And Stiles is sure he’s going to remember all the feelings Derek gives him, when he pushes against him, eyes closed to let their lips to finally collide, kissing him with more concentration.   
Derek's lips taste of aftershave, and his skin rubs against the other, leaving stubble burns.   
Stiles sounds finally free of inhibitions, when he lets go completely, kissing Derek back, with all the passion he can make.   
The two lovebirds don’t even notice that Scott moves away, as lost as they are in their bubble of love. 

"I'll come with you to New York, Derek. Cora is there, right? I will study there, I don’t care to leave Beacon Hills. I don’t want to let you go anymore" Stiles lets out with a raspy voice, against Derek’s lips, and he can’t help but nod.

“Ok. This…this sounds perfect.”

Stiles smiles, hugging Derek in the middle of the reserve, ready to start a new chapter of his life with him.


End file.
